


Mistaken Identity

by Snarkoleptic



Series: Snark on the Kink Meme [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, k!meme, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarkoleptic/pseuds/Snarkoleptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver has spent six lonely years with the Wardens, when his unit is one of several called to Vigil's Keep for an inspection and ceremony.  (K!meme fill, slash ahoy!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a k!meme prompt, as I need to get more used to writing this sort of thing. The prompt:  
> Situation b) Great Big Grey Warden Gathering. Or something like that. Carver's group is there, the Warden Commander, of course, is there as well.
> 
> Let's say the Warden is a little on the effeminate side. Carver only sees him from afar the first few times, never hears his voice. He develops a crush on the elf girl- only to find out after some time that it's actually a male elf.
> 
> To his frustration, the crush doesn't go away, even though he tries to convince himself that no, he isn't into guys.
> 
> What happens then is up to you, sexytimes with Carver and the Warden Commander would be very much appreciated.
> 
> Bonus points:
> 
> \- Dalish Warden (this would give them a topic to talk about, namely Merrill)  
> \- Nathaniel being involved somehow  
> \- If it even gets mentioned: A Warden who refused the dark ritual with Morrigan (either having someone else do it or having Loghain sacrifice himself)  
> And now the fill. Comments and criticism are always welcome, but please, be both gentle and honest.

Nathaniel was amused, in his gruff way.  The most unlikely recruit he’d ever seen – since himself, in any event – had come into his own in his time as a Warden, but still managed to miss some of the most blatantly obvious cues to pass before his eyes.  Of course the boy had been quick to proclaim his disinterest to the handful of men who had made advances in the years.  He’d missed many more opportunities, though, with the women they’d met in half a decade and more, by utterly failing to perceive their interest.

The archer laughed to himself for a moment, thinking of the number of times he’d complained about having to return to his old family home.  He’d gratefully taken the lieutenant’s posting that gave him Stroud’s former unit in the Free Marches, having long since wanted to free himself from the echoes of his past that managed to haunt Vigil’s Keep.  Of course what he’d said out _loud_ only made reference to the stuffy nature of pomp and ceremony that seemed to follow the First Warden on the rare occasions the man decided to venture away from Weisshaupt.

It was a momentous enough occasion, he supposed.  Vigil’s Keep had been all but destroyed, and in just five short years had been rebuilt stronger than ever.  That vile Dworkin had hunted up all those gathered who had moved on to other duties to crow about his successes in design and execution.  Things had been quiet enough in his area that he couldn’t justify declining the invitation that had been sent, for any Wardens previously involved with the Keep to return to see it dedicated.  But the memories still remained.

And so he could amuse himself at the expense of the ever more competent – and still utterly oblivious – Carver Hawke.  Since their arrival three days ago, it had been plain on the boy’s face, his interest in the captivating woman who circulated around the Keep.  And rightly so, the archer thought as he suppressed another laugh.  Any woman with such a sway to her hips and grace to her steps, confidence exuded in every move, should catch the eye of any red-blooded man fortunate enough to see her.

The hair, jet-black and swept into an eminently practical tail didn’t hurt either.  Neither did the piercing eyes or the lips that looked as if they’d be very much at home in the bedchamber.  After hearing Carver in his cups, speaking of a girl he’d never had the courage to court, it was hardly surprising that his eye would follow the elf around the Keep, even if the boy hadn’t gotten within any approachable distance.

Yes, it was no wonder Carver was enraptured of her.

Nor was it any wonder Nathaniel was so vastly entertained.  Warden-Commander Theron Mahariel was many things indeed, but after years of communal camp baths and hastily treated injuries, the archer was quite certain _woman_ wasn’t one of them.

It might have been the decent thing to do, as Carver’s superior, to disabuse the lad of his misconceptions.  But with a nod to the friendly, teasing rivalry that had been growing between the two in recent years, Nathaniel chose instead to wait for the boy to find out on his own.

* * *

 _Idiot_ , Carver thought.  _Why couldn’t I have kept my interest the least bit subtle?_   Oh, he’d thought his dream had come true, when the target of his attraction had finally found time to visit them yesterday in the room they’d taken in one of the new towers.  The elf was obviously popular, well-received and plainly well-respected, if the reactions he’d observed among the crowds of people were any indication.

But all of that had changed when the introductions were made.  He hadn’t come to the Keep expecting to have any particular opinion of the Warden-Commander, but Carver knew very definitively that he – unquestionably _he_ – had ended up being a good friend to his lieutenant.  He hadn’t known _what_ to think when the elf had very blatantly given him the visual once-over.

Or when the elf’s face had registered very clear approval of what he’d seen.

But when he spoke, he had simply complimented Carver on his achievements thus far in the Order, adding that word of the good work he’d been doing had been reaching the Keep for some years.  The way he said it tended to discourage any thought that he’d updated himself on reports before making his introductions; it seemed as if he’d simply made it his business to remember those who showed promise, and Nathaniel had certainly made no secret of his disclosure up the chain that Carver had done well leading the unit in his absence.  Distracted as he was by the praise, Carver almost failed to register that Mahariel’s voice left absolutely no question of gender, being nearly as deep and much more commanding than his own.

And _now,_ one of the many servants running around the castle had stopped at the room he was sharing with his lieutenant and two others from his unit – all mercifully absent, thank the Maker – to hand him a letter.  Sealed with wax.  Wax pressed with the Amaranthine seal.  And his name.  Right there.  Under the wax. 

He couldn’t convince himself any longer that he’d put the first three days of his stay out of his mind.  Not with an invitation – a _formal_ invitation, no less – to join the Warden-Commander for the evening meal.  In his study.  Which was next to his quarters, a fact that could not escape Carver’s notice as it had been so blatantly punctuated in the message.

Thinking of all this only sent him back into the litany of denials that had occupied his mind since the morning before.  He hadn’t been able to erase the three days of attraction that had built, or that shining moment of approval before he’d known just who he’d been following with his eyes.  It should have gone away, shouldn’t it?  The minute Carver realized he wasn’t mentally chasing after a woman, it should have stopped.

But it hadn’t, which was… wrong.  Not _wrong_ wrong; he’d met or served beside any number of men whose preference lay in that direction since his Joining, and he didn’t begrudge them any of it.  But it wasn’t right for him.  Couldn’t be.  It certainly hadn’t ever been before.  Had it?

Still, there was that part of his mind that just… couldn’t let the idea go, not after the dream that had broken into his mind as he’d slept the night before.  And thank the Maker it had been alien enough to startle him awake before he’d had to endure questions from his companions about just how long it had been.  But what had been so strange was the fact that, as he’d dreamt, it hadn’t _felt_ wrong.

And try as he might, he couldn’t for the life of him imagine now why it should.  Other than the fact that he’d gotten an invitation to dinner from the man who had almost single-handedly ended the Blight.  Or that the stories all said how he’d calmly sent a man to his death against the Archdemon without a regret.  Or that the man was superior to his _superior_.  He almost wanted to ask Nathaniel about the whole thing, but he could just imagine the look on his face.

Yes.  That one.  That smirk that said he was laughing on the inside, at someone else’s expense.  The one he wore right now, as he leaned against the open door to the room and shoved his tongue into his cheek, the bastard.

“He never was one to go for the lighter complexions,” Nathaniel said, kicking the door closed behind him and moving in to take a seat on a bunk.  At the range of expressions – and colors – that crossed Carver’s face, the archer’s smirk spread into a full-on grin.

“And you would know?” the warrior retorted, relying on his old standby of firing a return volley to any humor directed his way.

“Oh, he kept it light.  Almost joking.  Never denied his interest, but he always respected the line after hearing my bow just doesn’t aim at that target, so to speak.”

“So if I told him…”  Carver was visibly relieved, but he couldn’t help wonder at the pang of guilt he felt under it.

“If you told him you weren’t interested, he’d back off.  You can hardly blame him for thinking you are, though, the way you gawped at him since the day we got here.  Oh, I know it was always at some distance, but the man doesn’t miss a trick.”

“But I thought he was… I mean I didn’t know…”  _Not that I know a lot more now than I did then…_

Nathaniel gave in and let out the laugh that had been straining in his chest.  “I’m aware.”

“And you didn’t say anything?  Of course you didn’t, you utter bastard.”

“I believe I did mention on the way here that I wasn’t looking forward to having any fun during our stay.”  The archer’s tongue found its home in his cheek again.

“Repeatedly.  So you know him, right?  How do I tell him…”  Carver trailed off again.

Nathaniel didn’t miss that many tricks either.  “Tell him what?  That this is all new and unexplored… territory for you?  You must know by now Wardens don’t fear the unknown.  It’s a rule.”

“No!”  Carver cursed his voice for pitching high.  “That I’m not- that I don’t- that it isn’t…”

“Mmhm.  And if it’s not, and you don’t, and it isn’t, what other reason have you had for gnashing your teeth since you met him yesterday?”

Carver slanted a look at his friend.  The humor was still there – it would have to be, knowing him – but it was giving way to something more serious.  Which only left Carver more irritated, that he hadn’t kept his frustration to himself.  And all the more grateful that he’d been shocked awake before the dream had reached any kind of… conclusion.

Nathaniel took Carver’s silent thought to confirm his suspicion.  “So go.  Just be honest with him up front.  Tell him you’re out of your element.  Entertaining as all this is, I wouldn’t want to see you – or him – get hurt.”

“Just like that?  He’ll back off if I tell him he’s crossed a line?”

“Exactly like that.  Just be sure he has actually crossed one before you say something.  He takes it hard when he hurts others.”

 _Right,_ Carver thought.  _I’m the one out of my depth and he’ll be the one taking it hard.  I can’t believe I’m doing actually considering this._

* * *

 _I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,_ Carver reflected as he stood, awkward and nervous and hating himself for it, in the frame of the door to the commander’s study.  He’d almost convinced himself not to come several times, that all his life up to now had proven to him he shouldn’t be here.  But the more he thought about it, the more _that_ felt just as wrong as the idea he’d held yesterday that he should have forgotten the whole thing. 

The Commander, out of his armor for the evening, looked up from his inspection of the table that had been set at the sound of Carver’s hesitant knock on the door.  His pleasure at seeing his invitation accepted was plain on his face as he gestured the larger man toward a rather plusher chair than one might expect at a dinner table.  “Glad you were able to join me, Carver.”

“Warden-Commander.” 

Good humor settled across the elf’s features, looking very much like it belonged there.  “Theron, if you please.  I swear every time I hear ‘Warden-Commander’ what follows is a jumbled report about something being on fire or under attack.  Or both.”

“I…”  Carver’s voice left him, unsure as he was how to respond.  It struck him how similar the elf’s tattoos – _vallaslin_ , he remembered – were to Merrill’s, now that he was up close and paying attention.

“Come, now.  Nathaniel tells me you’re hardly a shy one, at least not in recent years.  You’re on a first-name basis with _him_ , aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but…  It’s just that I…” 

“Oh, I see.”  Theron hesitated now.  “Have I been mistaken?  It’s all right to say if I have.”

“I had thought – um.  I don’t know?”  _Maker, you sound such a fool.  At least you managed to stop ‘I had thought you were a woman’ before it got past your teeth._

“Then we have a couple of choices.  We can sit and enjoy the meal and conversation – I’m sure we can find any number of suitable topics – I’m hardly going to rescind the invitation for that.  And if during that meal you come to know, then we can… act accordingly.  As long as you understand that I stopped being the Warden-Commander the minute you stepped through that door, and you can call a halt to anything that causes you discomfort.”

Carver saw now that Nathaniel had been right, that the commander – Theron – wouldn’t test boundaries.  He sat, resolving to at least not make the evening a _complete_ waste of the man’s time.

And he found that they could, in fact, talk over any number of subjects.  It surprised him, deeply, that once they had found their conversational rhythm, neither man ever seemed wanting for something to say.

By the time he’d gotten around to asking more about the tattoos, he seemed quite at home pressing for details that might have shown a bit of ignorance on his part.  When Theron smiled in fond memory at his comparison of his _vallaslin_ to Merrill’s, and at Carver’s mention of Marethari’s unwavering calm, it felt… It felt like a connection, something they held in common, even if the commander did have to educate him in certain areas.

And Maker, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much.

Some of Carver’s nerves returned, then, as Theron regarded him over the remains of an excellent meal.  The wine was humming in his head, but he was clear enough to give serious thought to the joking question, delivered in a terrible mock Antivan accent.  “So then: as the priestess so famously said to the handsome actor… What now?”

He still didn’t know.  But he wanted to find out.

Following on the commander’s heels out into the hall, he felt a brief burst of shame at his grateful thought that there were no guards to see them move.  He scolded himself harshly as they stepped into the bedchamber, that Theron didn’t deserve to be treated as a guilty experiment. 

When the elf turned to face him and reached up to free his hair from the band that held it in its tail, butterflies welled in Carver’s stomach.  And, he realized, in lower places than that, fluttering whispers that hinted at attraction and anticipation.  Not nerves, not shame.

“I, ah…”  _Maker’s balls, why can you never speak when you get like this?_   “I haven’t… ever…”

Smiling, Theron closed the distance between them.  “Then we’ll go easy.  Unless you want to stop?”

“No.  No, I don’t.”  _There.  A short sentence, but it was complete._

“Good.”  Theron placed a finger to the warrior’s chin, beckoning Carver’s mouth down to meet his in a slow kiss, gentle and inviting.  “Still all right?”

“Maker, yes.”  Carver’s mind returned, unbidden, to flashes of the dream from the night before, and he realized he meant it.  Placing a hand at the small of the elf’s back, he turned to step backwards toward the bed, wanting more equal footing for this to continue.  As he sat, Theron’s hands pressed against his chest and slid up, over his shoulders, to bury themselves in his hair, and he welcomed the kisses that followed. 

A steady heat rose from his groin, simmering as it spread to his chest.  That nervous anticipation intensified when Theron drew his hands back down, back across his chest, nimble fingers pausing at a button on his shirt and a question in his eye.

“Yes,” Carver breathed, a last invitation, a final reassurance that he wouldn’t shy away. 

Theron took his time undressing the warrior, reaching into his shirt and teasing at the skin beneath, adding to the heat and the desire with every pass of his hands.  As he shrugged out of the garment, hands were replaced with lips, scorching a trail from his shoulder to his navel and back again, tongue and teeth taunting at his nipples, inciting wave after fiery wave of desire to gather and pool beneath his waist.

Carver didn’t want the elf to stop, didn’t see how the man had known he was harder now, almost painfully so against the rough surface of the trousers he’d worn.  And that was forgotten as hands dipped below his waist, brushing through the cloth.  It almost didn’t seem real that he would crave this touch, but his hips pressed up toward Theron’s hands once, then twice, almost begging with the motion for something more.

His desire ignited once more as the commander’s hands moved away, tugging at the laces on his trousers, pulling them down, capturing his smallclothes in the same fluid movement as Carver raised himself to allow the elf to tug the fabric off and away. 

“Relax,” Theron bid him with a hand on his chest, pushing him back against the cool surface of the bed.  And then his lips were there again, tracing a trail ever lower until Carver cut off a moan in his throat and jerked up at the warmth surrounding his tip and sliding down, long hair breezing along his skin as the elf moved.

The elf kept the pace slow, steady, drawing his hand up the warrior’s length to meet his lips and gliding back down to the base as he withdrew, driving Carver almost mad with his want for more.  When his breathing grew ragged, Theron increased his pace, ever faster.

Short of breath, he called out his warning, but the elf paid it no heed.  Carver’s hips bucked again and he growled with his pleasure, unable this time to stop it in his throat, shuddering under the weight of his release.

It took a long moment before his breath returned, during which the elf disappeared.  When he raised his head, he saw Theron at a curio, sipping quickly from a bottle of liquor that even from this distance looked expensive.  Though the drink was abandoned as he rejoined Carver at the bed, a question again in his eyes.

Carver found himself amazed.  “You can’t seriously think I’d go _now_.”

Theron’s lips curved in a wry smile, “I’ll admit I had hoped, but I would understand.”

Sitting up on the bed, Carver hooked a hand into the elf’s shirt and pulled him closer, tugging at the fabric and letting his hands give his answer.  It felt… new, different, but somehow not altogether strange to ease a shirt off of a flat torso, or to slide the breeches down past hips that didn’t curve.  He guided the elf back to the bed again, beckoning him up to recline against the ornate headboard.

Only when he shifted around did he pause, unsure of himself, but he was determined not to let it show.  He pressed his lips against the elf’s neck, breathing in the scent of _him_ that rose through the soap the man used, reminiscent of night in a forest.  Just as slowly as Theron had for him, Carver traced his way down, lingering across the muscular skin.  He thought it felt natural, then, to reach down and feather his fingers along the commander’s hardening shaft, pleased as it twitched in response.

As Theron became fully erect, Carver’s curiosity got the better of him and he moved down, mimicking the trail he’d felt before.  Taking the elf fully in his hand, he was encouraged with a sharp intake of breath.  His strokes were hesitant at first, growing firmer and more confident as he worked up his nerve.

 _Now or never._   He shut his eyes as he pressed his lips around the shaft, almost moving too quickly to get used to the new sensation, and the taste.  Slowing his pace, he found a rhythm, almost relieved at the insistent sounds escaping the elf and the rolling of hips rising to meet him and falling away.  Curious again, he reached with his other hand to grasp Theron’s balls, finding he liked the feel of them in his hand, enjoyed tugging and teasing at the line between.

From the breaks in the elf’s smooth motion, evidently he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed it.  He gave himself over to the feeling, listening to the continued wordless encouragement the man offered.

Theron began pressing harder upward, and Carver struggled to match his urgency, ignoring himself the warning that the commander was close.  He heard the commander cry out, felt his release, swallowing his pleasure and feeling strangely… proud, that he’d brought the man and had managed to handle the full experience.

Once Theron stilled, Carver extracted himself and glanced his own question back at the elf as he approached the curio.  Getting the nod in return, he belted back a couple of strong sips himself, no longer questioning why the elf would have done so. 

Unsure of himself again as he replaced the bottle, he still smiled as he thought of the strange comment that had started them on this path.  Looking back at Theron, he adopted his own mock Antivan accent.  “So then: as the cloistered brother so famously said to the painted tart… What now?”

Shocked laughter from the commander gave way to… something, Carver wasn’t sure what, but it had the elf looking down.  “That… depends on you.  You have your room for the duration of the stay, or… I wouldn’t mind if you stayed here.  And… I know right this minute might not be the best time to discuss your other options, but maybe after the ceremony…”

Carver stood for a minute, seriously considering.  He wondered now about the simple connection he’d felt during dinner.  _Did he also…  I can’t just_ ask _that, can I?  Is he even suggesting what I think he is?_

Making his decision, he crossed the room again and slid into bed beside the elf.

He didn’t know.  But he wanted to find out.


	2. Unknowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carver continues to adjust and to learn, and Theron reveals more of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d told me yesterday I’d start with any kind of character development based on my first ever kink meme prompt fill, I’d have found it funny. Instead, it’s becoming porn with plot! Don’t ask where the angsty afterglow came from, although the whispers in my head have a good idea where it’s going. Thanks again to the prompter and the passersby who offered all the kind words after the first chapter was posted!  
> 
> 
> * * *

“’Just go on in,’ he said.  ’Make yourself at home,’ he said,” Carver rambled to himself as he stood in Theron’s study.  The Warden-Commander had some loose ends to tie up after the interminably long speech the First Warden had given to commemorate the near-fall and renovation of Vigil’s Keep.  With any luck, the lot of them would be back on the road to Weisshaupt before the morning was out.  Carver had known the man for all of a day at this point.  How was he supposed to feel at home in his inner sanctum?

As he wandered, idly reading the titles of books shelved neatly among odd trinkets gathered from years of travel, it occurred to him he didn’t feel as out of place as he thought he should.  The pair of them had talked for over an hour, lingering past the meal and hovering over topics that never seemed to stop unearthing similarities between them.  And then there had been… 

Carver felt a rush of heat to his face at remembering what had come _after_ dinner, glad Theron wasn’t there to see it.  It wasn’t as if he’d been a virgin, some innocent plucked for convenience.  And it wasn’t as though he’d done anything wrong, either; he’d been aware of what his commander had been asking for, and he’d been willing enough.  But he was still… out of his depth.  He realized with some amazement born of his past experiences that he wouldn’t mind doing it again.

And the butterflies were back as he crossed to a window, fluttering up a gale within his stomach as he realized what _had_ been new.  He’d stayed.  He’d spent the night, and woken with Theron pressed against his side, an arm draped across his chest.  Always, before, the trysts and dalliances with the odd woman here and there had never been the kind to invite that sort of thing.  This had felt natural, somehow, and thinking of this gave him a pang of regret that Nathaniel would be rounding up the unit to head back to the Free Marches sometime the following day.

On the heels of that thought came puzzlement.  Why would he feel such a thing after one night?  Sure, he’d stayed, but a fling was a fling, wasn’t it?  It shouldn’t be any different just because Theron _wasn’t_ a woman.  There was still no reason Carver should be mooning about like some addled schoolboy after his first confused crush.  _Maker’s sake, man, get a grip._

He turned when he heard the soft click of the door closing behind him, aware that his shoulders had stiffened and annoyed that his nerves were announcing themselves so plainly.  Theron, black hair returned to the practical tail he wore whenever he went about his business, offered a little smile.  But it didn’t reach his eyes, and Carver thought he saw a glimpse of some more serious feeling, the one that had come yesterday before he’d been asked to stay.

“Thank the Creators,” Theron invoked as he sank into a chair facing the window, “they’re gone.  Bad enough getting one of the hideously demanding and inquisitive letters from the man.  It’s a dozen times worse with the judgment on his face right there to be seen.  You and I have… much to discuss, this morning.”

“We do?”  Carver’s eyes shifted around a time or two before settling.  “I mean, we do.”  _Stupid ass._

Theron’s lips spread again, this time with a bit more humor.  “Before we get into anything personal, I remember mentioning something about you having options.  It’s important, right now, that you understand there has to be a distinction between being a Warden and anything else we discuss today, and it’s Warden business I’d like to start with.”  The elf waited until he received a nod from the warrior.  “Right, then.  You’re aware Nathaniel was my Second before taking command of your unit?”

 _That_ certainly hadn’t been where Carver had expected him to go.  “I… was, yes.  He told me once he’d given it up because he wanted to be based elsewhere.”

Inclining his head in acknowledgement, the elf continued quietly.  “Paxton, Nathaniel’s successor in that role, answered his Calling some three weeks ago.”

“Oh.  That’s… oh.”  The warrior had yet to come fully to terms with this brutal aspect of the Order, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t grasp the weight of the situation as it applied to others. 

“We had known this time would come, even when Nathaniel left.  I was pleased your unit was able to join us here; I just came from offering him a return, as he performed quite admirably in the role when last he held it.  He would stay, if I ordered it, but with all that is represented for him here I don’t like to force the issue.”

“Good.  I mean, he did tell me _why_ he didn’t want to be based here.  It’s good you don’t want to push him to come back.”  _Where in the world is he going with this?_

“I’ll thank you not to say so in public, but the other lieutenants under my purview lack one quality or another that I would require for someone in this position.  It’s fortunate, then, that there is another option.  When Nathaniel left, I bid him train another for command, and it was understood that some element of politics and diplomacy would be included in that training.  Command is only one aspect of the role of the Second here, tied as my position is with the arling itself.”

Dimly, Carver realized that Nathaniel had lectured him on just that, teaching him to mask his natural temper and speak with some measure of neutrality.  He’d assumed those were required skills for any Warden in the field, as any one of them might be called upon to interact with local citizens or governments.

Theron spoke again, interrupting his thoughts.  “I believe I see you reflecting on the lessons you were given.  When I talked with him this morning, Nathaniel gave me a clear enough view of the things you’ve yet to learn, and he reiterated the successes he has reported previously.  This, then, is why you must understand that the events of last evening cannot intrude upon the conversation we are having now.  On the strength of Nathaniel’s evaluations, I would ask you to step into Paxton’s role and serve as my Second.”

Yes, that would be a good reason to understand the difference.  And there was something earnest in the elf’s voice that forbid suspicion of any ulterior motive behind the offer.  “And… Me?  What about… about the things I haven’t learned yet?”

“You’ll have to learn them as you go.  Something else Nathaniel tells me you’re good at doing.  It will mean spending a lot of time at my side, observing the art of governance.  I understand you have a sufficient knowledge of command as it is, as you’ve been left in charge whenever Nathaniel hasn’t been present for a number of years now?”

“I have been, without any issues.”

“Then I’ll ask again,” Theron raised a palm, offer and deference in a single gesture.  “I don’t like to force the idea on you, either.”

“And what about the rest?  Right, separate issue,” Carver went on before the elf could answer.  He heaved a sigh, thinking of all his bluster about looking to the future and building something in Kirkwall.  That had certainly ended fast enough with the trip into the Deep Roads that led to his eventual induction as a Warden.  But under all of it, he’d always known he’d want to return.  Home.  Ferelden.  “Then I’ll do it.”

As the commander opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded on the door.  At Theron’s call to enter, two pairs of servants came in, each bearing trays of one sort or another.  _Of course,_ Carver thought.  The kitchens here would be accustomed to feeding Wardens.  “I can tell now you don’t eat in here often.  No sideboard to hold a snack.”

“Ha!”  A clap of the elf’s hands punctuated his appreciation of the quip.

As the meal progressed, Theron outlined the smaller details of Carver’s new role.  Meals were generally taken in the common dining hall with the rest of the Wardens garrisoned at Vigil’s Keep, a fact the warrior heard with approval.  Carver would take a suite of rooms to claim as his own, as befit the Commander’s Second.  The change would be announced first to those Wardens here at the Keep once they’d all congregated for dinner, and then by letter to those units that hadn’t been able to appear for the ceremony.  He had the rest of the week to get with Seneschal Varel to go over hard numbers of the Wardens’ forces in Ferelden and learn their allocation and strategy, and then his continued training would begin.

“So…” Theron began anew after the remains of the lunch were cleared.  Carver noted the retreat of the commander, that confidence replaced with… what?  “We should also talk about… I’m not sure last night should have happened.  I’ve worried today that I might have taken advantage of my position.  Of you.”

“What?”  Carver immediately regretted the harsh alarm in his tone, seeing Theron close his eyes and look away.  _He takes it hard when he hurts others, Nathaniel said._

“I met you for all of five minutes, as your commander.  And then I dragged you in here and started us down the path that led you to my bed.   Regardless of what I’d noticed before that meeting, I worry that I manipulated you into coming here.”

“Theron… You did no such thing.  Not only did you give me every opportunity to walk away, Nathaniel told me you wouldn’t have blinked if I’d turned the whole thing down flat.”

“You spoke with Nathaniel?”  The elf looked back, now.  “He must have been… in stitches.”

Out of his element, Carver had no idea how to continue.  “I might have preferred it if he didn’t know, but he does turn up when you’re not looking for him.  Point is, I knew what I was getting into.”

“And that was?”

The warrior hesitated.  “You’re asking _me_?”

Theron laughed now, deep and long.  “I forget that was a first for you.  Maybe a better question would be: what are we doing now?”

No hesitation this time.  “You’re asking _me_?”

“I… Carver, I don’t know about you, but I’m certainly not above a meaningless tumble every now and again.”  Theron’s color rose a bit at the confession.  “But never after…  Was it strange, to you, how easy we seemed with each other at dinner yesterday?”

“Maker, yes,” Carver exhaled, prompting a similar release of tension from the elf.  “I had always thought…  I mean, I never considered it wouldn’t be a… a woman, if something like that ever happened.  But it did.”

Theron’s lip quirked in the wry smile he’d given the warrior the night before.  “That particular issue isn’t one I’ve ever shared.  So what does that mean, then?”

“I guess, I mean, I don’t… I don’t know.  I suppose I was hoping you would, because I don’t have a clue.”

“Do you-” The elf cut off abruptly and looked away again, as if afraid of the answer he’d hear.  “Do you regret it?”

It was probably inappropriate, but something struck Carver as funny, both in the statement and in the way Theron’s gaze snapped back when he spoke.  “And there I was worried about what it meant that I thought I might want to do it again.  I mean, I know I haven’t done any of it before, but I know there are other…  Um.”  _And here you go acting like an adolescent again.  Well done, Carver.  Least he looks like he got the message._

“I don’t really know what we’re doing either,” Theron admitted.  “I can’t say I’ve ever started something in quite this way.  And it can’t get in the way of our responsibilities, at all.  I worry that if we got started on the wrong foot…”

“Separate issues, remember?  I’m not saying I expect it will always be that easy, but right now it is, isn’t it?  And if you thought you couldn’t handle it, you wouldn’t have made the offer.  Nor would I have accepted it if I didn’t think the same of myself.  So… what now?”

Theron looked thoughtful for a moment, and then seemed to come to a decision.  “Well, for right now… I think it’s clear I haven’t been playing Commander for the last little bit, and there’s quite a bit of time yet until announcements are to be made, so…  Perhaps this is where you tell me you’ve just been promoted and I suggest we find a way to celebrate?”

Carver flushed, and then marveled all over again as his body chimed in with its own opinion of the idea.  “As a matter of fact, I was just recently elevated…”

* * *

The door to Theron’s chamber closed hard under the weight of the two men, Carver surprising himself by acknowledging just how _much_ he wanted to be here again.  As he crushed his lips against the elf’s and began the occasional tentative exploration with his tongue, he reached up and pulled away the band that held the commander’s hair in the tail.  Even if he weren’t so distracted, he didn’t think he’d be able to put words to the things done to him by the sight of the elf with his hair loose.

He just knew he wanted to see it again, _now_. 

Dropping the band on the floor at their feet, Carver braced his hands on the door and leaned further into Theron.  After a moment more, he felt the elf’s hands tugging his shirt free of his trousers and roaming across his back, at once aimless and seeking, until they dipped under the waistline of his breeches.  Fingers played across his ass, teasing against the edges of his smalls, driving his arousal to press fully against the fabric confining it.  An involuntary groan escaped his lips when Theron pulled him closer, and he found himself breaking from the kiss and grinding against the elf’s body.

Suddenly urgent, Carver freed the commander’s shirt and started working at the laces of his trousers, pausing now and again to pass a light and questioning touch over Theron’s trapped length.  Equally impatient, the elf’s hands joined the warrior’s, pushing the garments down until he could step out of them.  Shirt open and billowing behind him, the commander crossed the room, gesturing at Carver’s clothes briefly before withdrawing a small ceramic jar from a drawer in the nightstand.

The warrior fumbled a bit with his own buttons and laces, still reeling a bit from the contact.  He watched as Theron sat on the high edge of the bed with the jar in one hand, absently stroking himself with the other and clearly very intent on seeing Carver’s clothing disappear.

As Carver joined him at the bed, the elf caught his eyes and demonstrated what he wanted next, silently inviting the warrior to mimic his motions.  He illustrated reaching into the jar, which Carver found contained a cool substance that somehow warmed as it touched his skin.  Testing, he ran a bit of it through his fingers, thinking he’d never used something _quite_ like this.  He watched as Theron reached down, a finger disappearing as the commander illustrated his desire.

Again Carver had to consider for a moment, himself gently stroking and staying in the moment, having known the theory and deciding now he wanted to see it in practice.  After a moment, Theron held up another finger, arching slightly when Carver immediately complied.  On they went with the ritual, no words spoken, the warrior’s eyes returning to the elf’s as he learned the steps.

And then the commander reached out, guided him close, invited him in.  It was… different, in subtle ways, Carver realized, enjoying the transition on the elf’s face to an expression of enjoyment, the passage of harsh sound into a sigh of pleasure.  Testing again, he moved slightly, increasing the range of his movement and beginning to thrust as they both grew accustomed to the sensation.

Wanting more, Carver paused to lean closer, capturing Theron’s mouth again and breathing in that evergreen scent as he resumed the roll of his hips.  The warrior felt the elf’s hands returning, passing along his back stopping to grasp at his hips and pull gently in an enticing bid to _take_ more.

As Theron’s hands passed up once more and curved over his shoulders it was on him in an instant.  With a grunt and a shuddering thrust he arched back, emptying into the elf and willing his breath to return.  He collapsed on his elbows, resting his head for a moment at the curve of the other man’s neck while his heart slowed its steadier beat.

Pulling back to withdraw himself, Carver noticed the commander’s own arousal had retreated, and there was no evidence of his own pleasure to be seen.  Curious, the warrior glanced his question, getting a small smile and a shake of the head in return as Theron levered himself upright.  _No.  Fair play._  

With a hand on the elf’s chest, Carver pushed him back down, spotting a chance for another novelty he hadn’t yet experienced.  Bypassing the teasing from the last experience, the warrior shifted down and took the elf – all of him – into his mouth.  He heard the startled gasp and felt Theron’s hips grind upward, just once, and had only a moment to take in the new sensation before the other man grew hard once again.

Adjusting, Carver decided to try for the same intensity he’d just felt.  With a firm grip, his hand chased his mouth, quickly advancing and retreating, the elf soon joining in with an almost frantic thrusting.  When Theron’s breath caught in his throat, the warrior readied himself, and was more prepared this time for the commander’s release, though just as pleased at the sharp cry that accompanied it as he had been the day before.

After a moment, Theron moved again to stand, nodding his head toward a small chamber off to one side of the room.  “One of the benefits of the ‘Arl’ part of things,” he invited, finally discarding his shirt while waiting for Carver to find and make use of one of the bottles of liquor in his cabinet.

 _Huh.  The Arl gets his own bathing chamber.  Holy Maker, that basin is huge!_   “Suppose we should have arranged for this before we, ah…”

“What kind of benefit would _that_ be?”  The elf explained that a pump on the wall was connected to a cistern that was kept heated, a luxury built into a few of the larger suites.  “Every now and again there’ll be new water that hasn’t had time to heat properly, but it’s still better than a dip in a cold stream.”

The function of bathing didn’t take long, especially in a dug-in tub big enough to accommodate both of them with plenty of space between.  With basics seen to, Carver leaned back against the lip and spread his arms out, fully relaxed.  He was somewhat comforted then, not by Theron’s presence as the elf slid over to rest against his shoulder, but by the tentative – almost hesitant – manner of his approach.  _Guess I’m really_ not _the only one who isn’t sure what’s going on here._

“Still all right, then?”  Theron approached the subject cautiously.

“That _was_ you in there, wasn’t it?”

“Ha!  I just… I don’t know, with it all being this new to you, I worry what you might expect.”

 _Odd_ , Carver thought, _that_ this _would be what’s on his mind._   “That’s the thing, isn’t it?  It is all new, so I don’t really have any expectations.  If this… thing, this whatever it is, is that new for both of us as it seems to be, maybe we shouldn’t have any.  Right?”  _No clue.  I have_ no _clue._

But Theron seemed to accept his words as wisdom, and they remained for a time before either thought to move away.

* * *


	3. Untrue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carver reflects on doubt and Theron comes clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads-up:** Veiled reference to past dub-con in this chapter. Just a memory; there isn’t, _and won’t_ , be actual dub-con in any of this story.
> 
> As an aside, the sex that has been written in is entirely a nod to this story's origin in a k!meme prompt. It may not feature in all chapters, but it is what got us started.
> 
> Thanks again to those who are reading, and again to the original prompter for giving me an idea that has run right away with the muse.  
> 
> 
> * * *

The demands had come in from Amaranthine early the next morning.  Two caravans returning from the far reaches of the arling had been waylaid by bandits, and the associated merchants in the city were not happy about the failure of the patrols.  This hadn’t been an issue in the last five years, so just what did the arl plan to do about it?  Why had it been allowed to happen a second time?

Of course simple logic escaped those screaming the loudest; there wasn’t much the arl _could_ do about it before he was made aware.  So Carver had taken a unit to investigate, with plans to pass through Amaranthine to deliver the news and introduce himself once the problem had been solved.  Reminded as he’d been about politics, he had casually mentioned to the new Bann and the speakers for the merchants that they were most welcome to notify the ruling office at any time of issues affecting their trade.  He’d been pleased that his point was not lost on the bunch.

It had been a bit rough going at first, Carver thought as Vigil’s Keep came into view through the trees around a curve in the road.  It was hardly a secret that the one in charge of the expedition had been buggering the arl almost since he got here, which had made it much harder to prove himself in command.  Oh, his idea for pinning the bandits had gone over well enough, to be sure.  They’d borrowed a cart from the Keep and rigged themselves out to look like another caravan, which all but eliminated any need for investigation.  The criminals had walked right into the trap.

No, it had been his deference to their scout that had each of the soldiers with him reevaluating his fitness for his position.  It had been logical to Carver, anyway.  The woman had been born and raised in this neck of the woods, an area he’d never seen himself, so why wouldn’t he rely on her knowledge of the place for planning and strategy?  Either way, it had been made clear that he planned to give the men and women under his command every bit as much respect as he expected from them, and his sleeping arrangements at the Keep were all but forgotten.

By the soldiers he was leading, anyway.

Though he wasn’t about to let it show, the nerves and the guilt that followed took turns dancing a slow Remigold through his gut.  The gossip clearly had no issues with identifying exactly what had been going on with Theron, even if Carver himself hadn’t yet figured it out enough to confirm or deny in his own mind.  He’d even gone so far as giving the eye to a couple of men they’d passed on the road, to see if he could spot something that would prompt anything near the reaction he’d had around his commander.

Nothing.  Not a damned thing, other than a slight perception of how the pair differed from Theron, even if his recent experiences had left him more open to at least considering the possibility.

The whole affair definitely felt like it should have some sort of flash-in-the-pan quality, flame billowing up for a brief moment and then disappearing entirely.  But if he was honest, he felt as much regret over thinking _that_ as he felt guilt over wondering if a fortnight out of the Keep was enough to convince Theron they’d gotten this business out of their systems.  Which would leave Carver… where, exactly?  It wasn’t as if he’d just forget a couple of tumbles with another man, sure as he’d been up to now that he’d never have been interested in that sort of thing.

 _Well, nothing for it now_ , he thought.  The group was just passing into the outskirts of the town that had sprouted up around the south side of the Keep, one that was bordering on upgrade to being called a city after the amount of growth it had seen in recent years.  Though it sprawled some way away from the Keep itself, it did still manage to maintain some sort of control to the chaos.  That would be Varel’s doing, most like, blocking off areas for trade and industry so land could be staked for actual living without worrying about sounds or smells from a neighboring workshop.

Carver parted company with the soldiers at the gates to the keep, sending them off to find whatever might be left of the midday meal in the soldiers’ kitchens and surprising them with a promise that his report would include all due credit for the success at their task.  The throne room was empty save for Seneschal Varel and one of the Warden lieutenants, who waved him over as soon as he was seen.

“Glad you’re back early.  The commander is… away, and we have need of his authority to dispatch a unit to check into what’s supposed to be a darkspawn sighting off in the west.  I’ve got a group ready to search and report, but it needs him – or you, now you’re here – to give it the official nod.”

“On your orders, then.  See it done.”  Carver turned his attention to Varel as the lieutenant double-timed out the door.  “What did he mean the commander is away?”

“He…” Varel hedged for a moment.  “Ah, well.  You’d find out soon enough anyway.  He goes, from time to time, generally spending a day or so in the woods north of the Keep.  Doesn’t tell us why, or when to expect him back.  Got so we’ve stopped sending anyone after him, for all that he’ll not be found if he doesn’t wish it.  We wouldn’t even know he’d gone today if one of the servants hadn’t spotted him with a pack.”

Carver tried not to deflate _too_ visibly, and cursed himself for thinking he’d been half holding his breath at the thought of seeing Theron again.  Two nights, that was it; he shouldn’t have been disappointed at the lack of a reunion, but there it was.  And it wasn’t a surprise, was it, that a Dalish would want to break away and spend time among the trees and such?  Only question left was why, and why wouldn’t he announce it when he went?

* * *

Dusk crept about the battlements, shadows spreading as the sun dipped low.  Carver had spent the last hour up here, watching the line of trees in the northern distance.  He was worried for the Keep.  That was it.  The woods could be dangerous even during the day, even if they were regularly hunted, and even if there hadn’t been anything vicious sighted near the keep since the area had started to grow.  But if something happened to Theron out there before Carver was ready to take over, it wouldn’t be good for the Wardens or the arling. 

Right.  That had to be it.  The pair hadn’t known each other long enough to claim friendship or Maker knew what else, so he couldn’t have been worrying for anything more personal. 

So it was with the best interests of Amaranthine in mind that Carver forgot Varel’s earlier caution, changed into his travel leathers, strapped on his sword, rounded up a torch, and stepped out into the cleared growth between the keep and the forest. That nagging worry in the back of his mind was just his own doubts on his ability to take over before he’d had any of the training he was supposed to be getting, if anything happened to the commander. Had to be.

And of course Varel’s words would come back to him _now_ , after he'd been stumbling about in the dark forest for the best part of an hour.  _He’ll not be found if he doesn’t wish it_.  “Of course not, Carver, you daft git.  You’ve no skill at all for tracking, and you’re following someone who knows how to cover his steps anyway.  What in the bloody Void possessed you to run about out here after sunset?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” a familiar voice floated down to his ears.

Carver, ever the consummate warrior, jumped at the fright and brandished his torch like a blade before he realized the voice had come from _above_.  Sliding his gaze up, he found Theron perched on a branch, back resting against the fat trunk of a tree, one leather-clad leg dangling casually below.  And then the amusement in the elf’s tone finally registered.  “How long have you been there?”

“ _Here_?” Theron gestured at the tree he sat. “About as long as you’ve been standing _there_.  Relative to whatever space you’ve occupied, I’ve been behind and about this far above you for a good half an hour now.  These woods _are_ dangerous, you know.”

The warrior took a moment to be grateful he wasn’t the sort to speak his mind when alone, aside from the odd scolding such as the one he’d just given himself.  Yes, the man definitely was at home out here.  He had any number of things to ask, all of which boiled down to a confused, “Why?”

“That, I think, depends on you, just now.  Why did you come looking for me?”  The elf’s tone was casual, in the way that hinted of more questions than just the one spoken aloud.

“I…” Carver hesitated, considering and rejecting each of his excuses and settling on truth.  “I worried about you.  These woods _are_ dangerous, you know.”

Theron’s resigned sigh at the confession gave way to a surprised laugh at hearing his own words tossed back at him.  Nimbly, he slid from his perch, resting briefly on a lower branch to keep his balance before landing quietly in the near-mud on the ground.  “If you can be honest, so should I.  I come out here to think, every now and again, or to remember.”  The elf took a breath, as if bracing himself.  “And after your runner showed up last evening, what I had to think about was you.”

“Me?  Well, all right, that’s not so hard to believe.  I didn’t think of much other than you on the way in this morning.”

“I lied to you before you left.”  This admission came quickly, as though Theron had to line up the words and fire them off before they fled from his tongue.  “You don’t… you don’t deserve that, or the way I thought of you then, or the way I’ve been thinking of you since you left, and it made me wonder again if we shouldn’t…”

“You don’t want to say it,” Carver realized.  _No time like the present_ , he thought, tying his torch to a fallen branch and driving the end into the soft earth at his feet, planting his large sword beside it.  “Well, good, because I don’t either.  I don’t understand _why_ most of the time, but I’m no more ready to be done with this than you seem to be.  So as long as you were up-and-up with me about the reasons for my advancement as your Second, you may as well be out with it and maybe neither of us will _have_ to say it.”

“It wasn’t that.  It was...”  The elf gusted out another sigh and leaned back against the tree he’d been sitting in.  “I thought – was damned certain, in fact – that Nathaniel would take his old post after as much time as he’d had away, and that I would be giving you his lieutenancy.  I had also thought we’d have… we’d have a quick tumble and you’d be done with me, and it turns out I was wrong on both counts.  You’re better than that, and after that first meal we had together I knew it and went on with it anyway.  I needed…

“Well, that doesn’t matter.  The thing is, I wasn’t honest when I said I hadn’t started something in quite this way.  I have, once, and it… didn’t end well.  So in the time you’ve been gone, I’ve had plenty of opportunity to accuse you of things I have no reason to believe you’d ever do.  And you… don’t deserve any of it.”

Carver was quiet for a moment, looking about and deciding on the trunk of a fallen tree for a place to sit.  After nearly a fortnight on the road he was ready for any excuse he could find to get off his feet, and this broad expanse of wood gave him enough space to lean back on his palms.  “Will you tell me?  What it was you needed?”  _Start there, and maybe the rest will make sense._

Now Theron hesitated, the downward cast of his eyes hinting that he was searching for the right way to say it.  “I like to think I command well, that I make the right decisions, and that it should be me doing the duty I’ve taken on.  I like to think I haven’t had a problem with the harder decisions I’ve had to make to keep that command, or to see that duty done.  And that may be true, as far as it goes, but…  Carver, that isn’t me.  I needed a space of time, that night, where I didn’t have to be in charge, a moment that was about somebody else.  That’s why I distance myself out here, from time to time, to remember who I was.  The reticent little elf who loved nothing more than chasing after one of the Sabrae hotheads on some mad adventure or other, and who never had to be the one in control of anything.”

“So…”  Carver rolled the idea around in his mind.  “What’s wrong with that?”  

“Well, nothing, if you’d known going in that’s what I was after.”

“You said yourself you were as surprised by what came after as I was.  I’m having a hard time being bothered by any of what you’ve said.  You needed time away and you took it.  Right?”

“You shouldn’t be so forgiving.”  Theron shook his head.

“I’m not, when there’s something that actually needs thought about whether to forgive it.  How we ended up here startled us both, Theron.  It’s what we do with it we ought to be thinking about, isn’t it?  And… it’s worth repeating that I’m not ready for it to be done.”  _Believe it or not, Carver, that’s the truth._

The elf stared off into the distance without speaking for long enough that Carver felt the need to prompt him.  “Can you tell me, then, how that… the last time didn’t end well?” 

Theron seemed to debate the question with himself for a moment.  “I… hope you’ll understand this is why I said you didn’t deserve what I’ve been thinking.  We had started similarly, thinking we’d found something… more, during what was supposed to be just another convenient night.  And without me saying anything, he picked up on my want to hang back in the shadows, in private, and interpreted that to mean… other things.  Well.  The more ground I ended up giving, the more he would take, and before too long I was tolerating a lot of things I didn’t care for, just for the sake of having my own private retreat.  When he finally transferred back to Orlais, he said… he told me it was because he’d gotten everything he wanted from me and had no reason to stay.”

Once again, Carver felt out of his depth, and once again he cursed himself.  This time, though, it had more to do with the fact that he’d thought first of himself after what he’d just heard.  “Then you needn’t worry.  I won’t do anything that isn’t invited.”  Carver held up a hand as the elf opened his mouth to speak.  “I don’t say it because I think you’re worried I will.  It just seems… I don’t know, it seems like you needed to hear it said.”

Theron stilled for a moment, realizing he’d just been read very well.  After a moment to steady himself, he closed the distance in the small clearing and wrapped his arms around the larger man’s middle, letting his head rest for a moment on the warrior’s shoulder.  “So, um.  Hello.  Welcome back, and all that.”

Returning the embrace, Carver laughed.  “Fun trip, certainly.  I can report your new Second is at least a bit smarter than the average bandit.  Great deal more alive, too.”

The elf’s humor was muffled.  “I suppose we should get back.  I have to admit I had to put off thinking about a proper welcome for you, since I was so busy planning to sound like a complete arse.”  At the thought of what Theron had just hinted, Carver’s body again made its approval known before his mind fully caught up, drawing another laugh from the commander.  “Hmm.  Can’t get too creative, out here, you know.”

Glad his flush couldn’t be seen, Carver rejoined, “The setting is creative on its own, isn’t it?”

“True enough,” Theron managed, pulling the warrior back toward the torch and stabbing his own daggers into the dirt near the sword, drawing Carver down to his knees under the flickering light of the torch.  “Just in case.  If there were any wolves out there, I doubt they’d have any appreciation for modesty.”

Carver started to wonder for what had to be the hundredth time how it had come to be that he would have missed this, while he was gone.  But Theron was ahead of him, this time, reaching up to pull the band out of his hair and shaking it loose.  The warrior had a moment’s distraction at the thought that the elf had remembered, and then fingers were pulling deftly at the laces on his leathers, shifting his clothing just far enough to be out of the way.

Shivering a bit, both from the rapidly cooling air and the feather touch along his length, Carver reached out now to free Theron, who had grown to be similarly constrained.  A moment later, the elf’s hand withdrew and he stretched up on his knees, capturing the man’s other hand and pulling it down.

Curious again at realizing the intent, Carver complied, moving a bit to accommodate the differences in height.  When both men were pressed together, the warrior closed his hands around their lengths, responding to a light squeeze from Theron asking for a bit more pressure.  And then Theron began to move, slowly, nodding his satisfaction with the arrangement.

Caught once more at feeling something new, the elf’s length sliding along his own, hands running along his chest and teasing around his back, it wasn’t long before Carver was moving and breathing faster.  Willing himself to calm, he slowed his pace, warmed when Theron smiled up at the evidence of his desire to keep the moment.

At the last moment they broke away, Carver gripping Theron and stroking through the elf’s climax, almost surprised at the speed with which the commander returned the favor once he’d spent himself onto the ground.

The warrior waited until his arousal had completely retreated before readjusting his clothing.  He stretched, then, sitting open-legged on the ground and inviting Theron to settle back against his chest for a moment.

“I should wander away from my duties more often,” the elf mused as the torch flickered its warning that the pitch was burning low.

“Ha!  So long as you send word when you’ll want me to find you.”

“You know…  I might just drag you with me now and again, too.  It’s been… Well, too long it’s been since I’ve had the chance to share this with anyone.”

“I’m… Ah, I’m glad you decided to let me in on it.  And, I mean, not just because of what we just…  Um.”  _Smooth, Carver.  It’s a wonder there aren’t sonnets that sing of your prowess, you bloody great tit._

“Taken in the spirit intended,” the elf’s body shook with his laughter.  “Right, then, it’s cold.  Let’s get back, and I’ll show you where Varel leaves the things that need my attention when I’m ready to come back to the present.”


	4. Unashamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carver resolves some of his past, and Theron begins to think about his own.

Carver was ready for a break, he decided, as he passed the gates into Amaranthine proper.  He’d only been back in the swing of things for a fortnight, but every single day of it had been enough individually to make his head swim.  Put them all together and he was amazed he hadn’t drowned.

First there had been the meetings with Varel.  Those hadn’t been too bad.  Administrative details for the Wardens, rights and responsibilities of command, training schedules and sparring sessions, all things he was prepared to handle anyway.  He had, at one time or another, assumed all of those duties for Nathaniel on a much smaller scale, so widening the scope to include all of Ferelden had been a relatively simple matter.

But then there had been the nobility.  Whatever political maneuvering had been necessary to make it happen, it had gone down in the books that the heir to the arling was whoever currently held the rank of Second, noble considerations aside.  This had the side effect of ensuring within the Wardens’ ranks that whoever took over the rule of the arling would, by default, assume the role of Warden-Commander as well.  As a result, Carver had been immersed in study of politics and decorum while at the same time having to learn from the source those of Theron’s duties the commander generally kept to himself.

All of this had conspired to keep his mind so thoroughly occupied that he hadn’t been able to give any serious thought to Theron himself.  Not until he’d gotten out on the road toward Amaranthine, anyway, and by that time he could think of little besides the bloody great battle he expected to find on his arrival, even if the letter that prompted it had hinted at civility.

The missive had arrived middle of last week.  Marian had business in Amaranthine, and would be staying at the Crown and Lion for the duration.  Try as he might, Carver could read no guilt, reproach, recrimination, nor any of the other bad blood that had passed between them in her invitation to meet her there.  She simply said she’d have a few days to herself after that, and would stay on if he wished.  They’d hardly exchanged any words between them in recent years – “I’m now the Champion of Kirkwall” followed by “I’ve been elevated to Warden-Commander’s Second.”  Otherwise, not so much as a greeting since Gamlen’s letter carrying the news of their mother’s passing.

To say their relationship had been strained, as Theron had put it, was a world-class understatement.  And yet, as Carver passed under the shadow of the great statue standing before the Chantry, Theron had been the one to encourage him to come.  He’d pointed out the careful wording in the letter, and suggested she might want to make a genuine attempt at putting things right.  And beyond all that?  He’d listened.

Even after the involved conversation that had taken place in the forest, Carver hadn’t really relished the idea of opening up his own past in that way.  Not that there had been a lot of time for that anyway, what with other… occupations… but Carver was definitely of a mind to keep his past in the past.  Until the letter had arrived, at any rate, and then he’d been surprised at how easy it was to let Theron hear the uglier details of his past with Marian. 

And in the end, Theron had calmly pointed out the ways in which Carver had changed over the years, drawing on the warrior’s tales of how he’d behaved back in the day, and suggested that maybe Marian had changed as well.  The elf had thought coming to see her would be a good idea, but he’d also made clear that he wouldn’t think less of Carver for passing on the opportunity.  He just accepted, and maybe it was a good thing there hadn’t been time to really think about that.

As he stepped off the street into the common room of the Crown and Lion, they both spotted each other at the same time.  _Maybe Theron was right_ , Carver thought, as he saw a hesitant smile find its way to her face and felt a similar reaction on his own.

* * *

“Has to be a spell of some sort, don’t you think?”  Carver looked across the large table in the study at Theron.  “On one of us?  You could have knocked me over with a feather when her first words were an apology, and then again when mine were the same.  Of course, it didn’t take long for her smart mouth to come back _after_ that.”

Theron watched as trays were brought in, nodding in approval of the late meal they’d offer to Marian to mark her first night at the keep.  “Still, it’s good you thought to offer her a place here, once you realized things might be on the mend.  I… am pleased, I must admit, that you wanted to pass this evening with her here.” 

 _Something else in that tone, there, I’m pretty sure._   “That we’re doing it in here, or that I asked you to join us?”

Pinned, the elf glanced away.  “You had said there wasn’t an opportunity to tell her about me, is all.  I’m quite prepared to play politics for the evening; I understand anything else may not be something you want to approach with her, just as I understand how you might feel about-”

“What?  No.  No.”  Carver stood,  stepping around the table, leaning over to prop his elbows on the back of Theron’s chair and rest his head on his elbows next to the commander.  “You can just stop that.  Maybe I don’t know what I think about… _whatever_ this is.  It was unexpected, and maybe I haven’t puzzled out yet how or why it happened.  So maybe I hesitate sometimes, and maybe I’m not sure how to… be, with you, but the one thing I have got figured out is there’s nothing to be ashamed of.  We haven't denied any of the rumors floating around the keep, have we?”

From this angle, Carver could see in the elf’s profile he’d been on the mark, but now he was even more confused.  He’d have to remember this for later, then, because if he wasn’t about to treat Theron as some little secret to be hidden away, he needed to be sure the elf truly wouldn’t expect it of him.  And that he fully believed what the warrior had just said.  _And just why would he think… ah, well._

Both men stood, schooling their thoughts away from their faces, as a knock sounded on the door.  At Theron’s invitation to enter, a servant announced “Champion of Kirkwall Marian Hawke.”

“Just Marian, if you please, or Hawke if you absolutely must.  ‘Champion’ sounds so much more important when people don’t hear it every time they blink.”

Carver couldn’t bring himself to find any guilt in the immense satisfaction he felt at the look on her face when he stepped forward to handle introductions.  For the first time in his life, he’d managed to get the drop on his sister, and he was by the Maker going to enjoy every second of it.  “Marian, this is Theron.  Theron Mahariel, Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”  So saying, he reached out to link his fingers through the elf’s to contrast the formality, as if there were anyone else in the room he could have been announcing.

 _Two birds, one stone.  Although I suppose it’s_ what _this is announcing that’s got her looking like she’s just been prodded in the ass with a bronto horn.  Either way, even if we are making nice I still owe her for all the cracks about Merrill back in the day._   Just in case, to make his point – more to Theron than Marian – Carver shifted his own chair around the table to sit closer than had been previously arranged.

* * *

Conversation over dinner had been carefully directed around controversial topics by some unspoken agreement, in homage to the cracks that had just begun to mend.  Though Carver suspected Theron was drawing a bit on his “Commander” mask to pull it off, his sharp wit had been very much in evidence, something Marian had definitely appreciated.  Of course, he didn’t believe her for a second when she said after the meal she couldn’t find her way back to her own rooms, but he supposed he was grateful that she’d chosen to save her own wit for his ears alone on the walk back through the keep.

“So…” the mage slanted a look at her brother after they got some distance away from the study.  “How did that happen?”

“How did what happen?”  Carver tried to keep his tongue out of his cheek and aimed for a casual sort of tone.  He missed.

“Don’t give me that.  I was prepared to believe you were having me on for the longest time, but that’s not the case.  Whatever happened to stumbling over Merrill?  And Faith, at the Rose?  And what’s-her-face from Lothering, Peaches?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t really know?”

“ _Oh_ , yes.” 

“Of course you would.”

“At least,” Marian responded lightly, “I now know why it’s not a hardship for me to take a room with a bath I don’t have to heat myself.  A servant spilled the beans about it being yours,” she added when he opened his mouth.

The rest of the short walk passed in silence, Carver ready to leave her to her evening until a thought struck him at the door.  “What do you mean _for the longest time_?  You looked thoroughly poleaxed from the start.”

“And then at some point I’m sure I started looking amused.”

“Theron’s funny, when he wants to be.”

“Oh, I agree,” the mage’s voice hinted at an ace up her sleeve.  “But in your haste to show me what you wanted me to see, you forgot to mask all the love-struck, adoring little glances you were shooting his way whenever he talked.”  Over her brother’s sputtering, she continued, “I’m not saying you’ve fallen off the ledge just yet, but I’m sure I saw a man walking that edge.”

Falling back on hold habits, Carver fired back, “And you would know?  How is it any different from the way you acted around Anders, before the Deep Roads?”

Marian smiled, without humor, and when she spoke her voice was soft.  “I knew what I was getting into.”  She held up a hand when he drew breath to respond.  “I’m not saying you don’t know what you’re doing, Carver.  And if what I saw is what it is, then really, I’m happy for you.  You just ought to know by now that seeing you out of your element has always been one of the pleasures life throws at me.”

“Right.  Well.  Laugh it up then.”  After a moment, “How is he?”

“He’s… Anders.  I thought about trying to convince him to come with me, but this place… It isn’t a happy one for him, not anymore.”

“When you get back to Kirkwall, tell him…  Theron probably won’t thank me for speaking of it, but tell him Theron is sorry.  For failing him, I mean.  He still doesn’t know who it was who sent the letter up to Weisshaupt about Justice, and those templars were _not_ his idea.  He tried to send them back, but they were here on the orders of the First Warden.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Tell him, too, that he was reported killed in that incident.  The one that got him on the way to Kirkwall.  So it’s probably best he didn’t wander back through here, but he needn’t be looking over his shoulder for us.”

Not wanting to delve any deeper into confidences he’d promised to keep, Carver bid his sister good night and stepped back out into the hall.

* * *

By the time Carver got back to the other side of the keep and let himself into the bedchamber, he found Theron already in bed, though the elf did look over and smile widely.  Stripping down to his smalls and placing his clothes, neatly folded, on a side table, he slid in beside the elf and folded an arm around him.  “I, ah… I should tell you I gave Marian a message.  For Anders.”

“Ah.”  Theron’s smile faded.

“Nothing big, just the basics.  It’s just she’s… you know… with him.” 

“Ah,” the elf repeated.  “Good.  He deserves it.  To be happy, you know?”

“Everyone does, don’t they?”

“That’s… not generally been true, in my experience.”  Theron’s tone spoke of anything _but_ those who might be undeserving on the merits of their character.

“Probably not in Anders’s experience either, up to now, wouldn’t you think?”

“What are you…?”

“I saw the look on your face, before Marian got to the study and again when I got here.  I know _you’re_ not ashamed of whatever’s going on with us either, but you seem to always be surprised when I do something that makes you… happy.”

Theron said nothing for a long moment, so Carver pressed on.  “I’m not going to ask you for details you don't want to give.  Ever.  And I’m not going to be bothered if you want to leave it in your past.  But I _am_ going to tell you it _is_ in your past, as far as I’m concerned.”  For emphasis, he tightened his hold on the elf for just a second.

For his part, the elf seemed vaguely stressed, or perhaps distressed, making Carver wonder if he hadn’t overstepped.  But after a moment, Theron settled again and voiced simple gratitude before they drifted off to sleep.


End file.
